The Path to President
by FireBird128
Summary: President Snow's old journal, starting when he was ten.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My fourth fanfiction. Please read and tell me what you think.**

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January 27th, 2225

One day, I'm going to be famous. I'll be known throughout Panem. Me, Coriolanus Snow, famed...what shall I be? President, of course! I will rule Panem. So, when I'm president, I bet I'll find it handy to have a document of my past life. For, you know, biographies and such. I was pondering this the other day, and decided to start a journal. It's not too late, I'm only ten. So, I plan to continue this journal until I am president, and then everything I do will be documented.

So, my name is Coriolanus Snow. I am ten years old, and I will be eleven in November. I live in the Capitol. My greatest wish is to be president. But unfortunately, I am still ten, so that is not yet a possibility. I am told that I do not always act like a ten-year-old. Too bad. I am what I am. My age, unfortunately, is something I cannot change. But eventually, I will turn eleven, and then twelve, and then thirteen, and eventually I will be able to run for president. But now, I am ten.

This summer is the twenty-fifth Hunger Games. The first Quarter Quell. No one is sure what it will be like yet, but soon, hopefully, it will be the greatest nightmare of the districts. All the better to keep them in line.

There was mandatory viewing tonight. President Keidon was on the screen. I stared hungrily at him.

"That will be _my_ job one day," I say.

Father hears me and turns around. "Ambitious, Coriolanus," he says. "I'll vote for you."

President Keidon unfolded a paper slip numbered "25". I am reminded of a reaping slip.

"For the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children are dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district must hold an election and vote on the tributes who are to represent it."

I could imagine the gasps of disbelief, the tears, in the districts. They have to choose their tributes? Ingenious. A perfect way to involve the districts in their own demise.

"Pretty nice," Father said. "I can't wait for the Games."

Mother and I nodded in agreement.

Now, I sit here writing this, and reflecting on the evening. The districts will be responsible for the deaths of the children, and that will set rivalries between people in the same district. This, in addition to everything else, will divide the district.

Analysis of tactics is quite important. I shall use it a lot when I am president, I expect.

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**A/N: What did you think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: A big thank-you to my one reviewer, Lexington1289, the one reviewer out of twelve views. Anyways, here is the second chapter, but first: I don't own the Hunger Games. Obviously.**

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January 28th, 2225

Today everyone was chattering about yesterday's announcement about the Quarter Quell. Everyone agreed that it would be an awesome twist, but the thing is, they called a horrible twist, too. And not in the right way, which is that it's awesome _because_ it's horrible. Those soft-hearted people were _sympathising_ with the districts. We're in the Capitol. The districts deserve it. Sympathy doesn't belong in Panem. The Hunger Games do.

When I brought this point to a boy in my class, he responded saying that we should understand the districts, since we rule over them. Really. All we need to understand is that in order to keep them in line, we must be harsh. We're not harsh enough. It told him this, and he just rolled his eyes and walked away. Well, it is more important that I know this. He's not going to be president one day. Me? I am.

I told Father about this. He replied, "Some people just don't get what life's about: Power. Conquering. I'm glad you do. It's essential."

I agree with Father about this. It's another reason I am to be president one day: I know the essentials of life.

But then Mother comes into the matter. "Corry," she said, "don't listen to your father about this. Be a normal kid. Don't waste your time with politics."

I told her that as I will one day be president, I needed to understand things like this. She said, "Don't let your father warp you, Corry." Mother just doesn't understand. A shame. One day, I will not be able to live with her any more. She will have to go. One day.

Now I come to the topic of my sign off. I could say _sincerely_, but honestly, I am not always sincere. I could say something like _Coriolanus_, or _Snow_, or _future president_, or something along those lines. But I am still ten, and it does not seem quite right to sign off in such a way. So, I think that for now, until I have matured a bit, I will sign off by my nickname, which is, while rarely used, still my nickname: Corry. Please note that I never go by this name. But it is my...hidden name, and this my hidden journal, so they seem to go together. Immature and not-like-me as it is, I think I will use this sign off for a time. Please remember that I am only ten. So, it is decided.

Until I have reason to write again,

~Corry


	3. Chapter 3

January 30th, 2225

Oh my God. Or I might say "oh my president" or "oh my father", as the position and person are the most meaningful to me. But that's not important. What is? My sign off is. It may be my very definition, in a way. And Corry is _not_ a good way to describe me. Meaning, the name does not reflect my personality in any way. For one, "Corry" is a girl's name. Well, I know a girl named Corry. I wasn't thinking about that two days ago. And also, "Corry" sounds like the name of some peaceful, fun-loving little kid. Little _girl_. Me, I am not peaceful. Trust me, you do not want to argue, and to make me prove this to you. I bet many call me a barbarian, and I thank those who do. And seriously, if they call me a barbarian _now_, just imagine what I'll be like in a few decades, when I'm smarter than I am now, and older, and when I'm _president_, and in charge of an entire nation. Just imagine.

And fun-loving? I am motivated by my success and the failure of others, not be what is _fun_. Do not assume this of me if you wish to live. And do _not_ think me incapable of killing and hurting others. Do not make me prove this to you. But of course, if I have to prove it, you won't live long enough to learn the lesson.

The point is, I'm not a Corry, and I will never again use that as my sign off.

Time does pass when you imagine the weeping districts, and when you watch the security videos from the districts, which are forwarded directly to our televisions. I was watching this, and I listened to countless conversations about the "horrible new twist." I heard one person say, "That horrible president! I hope something terrible happens to him! How dare he impose such things upon us!" Of course, I notified the president at once, but not because I care about his reputation, but because I don't want a rebellion. I don't want Panem to fall before I can rule as president for a good long time.

The peacekeepers are coming for the man, they're going to arrest him for treason. It's not exactly what I would call treason, but I don't care. It's a show of force, which we don't have enough of. I hope they kill him.

Now, my next question: what should my sign off be? I have decided that this is very important, and as future president, it must be good. I have been thinking about this, and have decided that it might change from day to day, but today, I will just sign off with my name.

And no squiggle.

Most obviously,

Coriolanus Snow

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**A/N: Did you like it? Did you think it was the worst thing ever? Do you have any suggestions? I won't know unless you review and tell me.**

**~Skylark**


	4. Chapter 4

February 1st, 2225

It is infuriating how people treat me like a little kid. I am ten, younger than most, smaller than most, but can one deny that I do not act like a ten-year-old? What other ten-year-old cherishes pain and power in the way I do? In fact, it is this characteristic of mine that brought the scorn upon me from my teacher, Mr. Dalfis.

He thinks that it is not right for a ten-year-old to be - what was the word he used? - bloodthirsty. Oh, I am not bloodthirsty just for the sake of it. I will do whatever is best for me. I will do whatever will ensure that one day I will rule this nation. But did my teacher understand this when I told him? Oh, no, of course not. He laughed in my face and told me that people would never vote for me for president - and certainly not him.

He said that no one in any district would want a president like me. He thought me a stupid fool, this is proof. Is it not common knowledge that the votes from the districts are not considered at all?

I will take my revenge on Mr. Dalfis, I will. Someday. He must watch out and tread lightly. But surely he will not.

I expect you are begging for news about the person, who, I don't think I mentioned, was from District 6, who was caught insulting the president. He is awaiting his "trial", in which, of course, the jury will find him guilty. They are taking their time finding the date. Most likely, it won't be for another month or two. People from the districts don't get speedy trials. The record since Panem's creation is three weeks.

Right now, the man is locked up in some prison somewhere. I plan to pass a message to him, tell him who's responsible for his fate: a ten-year-old boy. My age does have some advantages: taunts. Well, not really.

Today is the first day of February. Five more months until the Quarter Quell. We can't wait. I hear that the elections are in June. The results will be announced at the "reaping".

Five more months. Then our suspense will be ended. Perhaps I'll be the president when the next Quarter Quell rolls around. But for now, I'm just a little boy barely into his double digits, fantasizing about blood and death. Cheery, I know. But it's who I am.

_Un_happy February,

Coriolanus Snow

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**Please review.**


	5. Chapter 5

February 6th, 2225

Today is Blackout Day, one of the Capitol's more stupid holidays. During the Dark Days, there was a huge blackout, and it started on February 6th. Every year since, on this day, no one turns on any lights, or TVs, or anything else that requires electricity. It's a very popular festivity, for reasons I do not understand. All I've ever seen it as is a day when the Capitol is dark, and I can't see what I'm reading, or here, writing.

This morning, I dared to turn on the light in my room. Mother stormed in almost immediately, and she told me to "turn that light off right now, Corry, or else. It's Blackout Day, and I will _not_ tolerate you turning on any lights for the entire day."

"I don't get the point of Blackout Day," I admitted. "Why turn off all the lights? I can't see what I'm doing!"

"It's a tradition," Mother said. "It is very important to follow traditions, Corry."

It's a silly tradition, if you ask me. People were so devastated by the blackout of 2198. Why would they go to such measures to remember it? Also, the blackout happened because the rebels got control of the power plants. Blackout Day is basically remembering - _honoring - _a time when rebels got the better of us. It could serve as a reminder to the districts that they are capable of unseating us, just as they did that day.

Blackout Day always results in shouting matches between me and Mother. She complains that I do not respect traditions as I should, I insist that it is a silly remembrance, and we are better off forgetting it.

One year, Father got involved. He told me that I was _never_ to use electricity during Blackout Day - I was to follow the tradition. He then told Mother that she was absolutely right. I can tell he does not mean it, he just wants to keep the peace. But it is not worth keeping the peace. Better we sacrifice peace than sacrifice our opinions.

My mother was ten during the blackout. She says it was a hard time, but at least she got a break from the devastating news reports, which were full of accounts of uprisings - a president's nightmare - and deaths. I'd prefer to know what was happening. That's another effect of Blackout Day: you can't hear the news. There _is_ no news.

When I am president, I will forever abandon Blackout Day.

-Coriolanus Snow

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**A/N: I bet a bunch of people will be reading it, and will decide not to review. Please, let me know what you thought.**


	6. Chapter 6

February 14th, 2225

Things have been dull. My days are filled with schoolwork. I don't _have_ to go to school. In fact, only about 10% of children in the Capitol go to school. But if I am to be president, I must be schooled. I must be intelligent, and more so than the other candidates. School, however, is not my favorite pastime. No, not at all. I must sit in a boiling room, most times, and listen to rants about districts, and sales, and certain businessmen.

And the teachers are not interested at all in guiding a boy towards presidency. They laugh at any serious dream from a child of my age. If I tell them I want to be president, they reply, "What a sweet dream! My nephew wanted to be president when he was your age, too!", or "Don't make plans for your adult life right now, Coriolanus. Anything could happen between now and then."

The teachers treat me like a little kid, carefree and joking around, making ridiculous plans for the future. People who treat me like that go on my list. Trust me, you do not want to be on my list.

Let me tell you a story.

A schoolmate, Hubert, got on my list. He teased me frequently, and he called me "Corio-anus". I told him that if he valued his life, he should stop. We were barely six at the time, but he knew what a threat was. He must have thought I was joking.

Hubert said, "What a joke! You're funny! I value my life, so of course I won't stop my life!" He didn't seem to understand that I was directly threatening his life. "Wow, Corio-anus, you expect me to take you seriously? I'm so scared! You're going to kill me! Oh, no! I'm terrified!"

I left him laughing, and ran home to plan my next move. Hubert had to go. People like that, they threaten me, and indirectly, the nation which I already knew I would rule someday.

At the library, I found a book about poison. I even found a recipe, if you can call it that. I scrounged up the ingredients I needed, and crafted the poison. I stored it in a plastic vial.

At school the next day, I brought in the vial. At lunch, I sat next to Hubert. Like always, he drove me crazy, but I knew it would be for the last time. Soon, he would be gone. Dealt with. Anyways, Hubert went to the bathroom, leaving his food behind - and his juice.

I took the cap off from my vial, and poured its entire contents into Hubert's juice.

Hubert came back, and continued eating, but he didn't touch his juice for a while. I was beginning to fear that he had seen me pour the poison in when he picked up his juice and took a big swig. I turned away. It was more important that ever to not pay attention or seem involved or responsible.

I had read that it would take up to twenty-four hours for the poison to affect the victim. So, I figured that meant Hubert would get sick sometime tonight. I couldn't wait.

The next day, at school, the teachers announced "with sorrow" that Hubert had gotten a strange sickness, and would not be coming back to school until he was all better, if he ever was. The next day, they announced that he had died.

I had my first kill at age six. My next kill was the next year. I'll tell you about that another day.

One thing's sure: When I'm president, I'll have loads and loads of this poison.

-Coriolanus

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**A/N: What did you think?**


	7. Chapter 7

February 23rd, 2225

Nothing much happened today, so I will tell you of my second kill: my grandmother. _Oh, Coriolanus_, you might say. _How could you do such a thing? How could you kill your own grandmother?_ I hope this is not what you are thinking. Well, _I_ don't really care, but if you say anything like this to me, you'll most likely end up on my list. Just like my grandmother.

So, what did my grandmother do? So, let's go back three years, back to when I was seven years old. Grandmother is visiting, once again. She is seventy-three years old. Grandfather has the flu, and decided to stay back home.

I enter the house. See me? I'm the little boy in the red fur coat and the green mufflers. The one dressed up in Christmas colors. Though we aren't religious, we celebrate Christmas. Just for the presents, of course. I hug father - he's the man in the fluffy sweater, sitting at the table with the two women, one much older than the other.

I hug the younger woman, too. Sweet Coriolanus, right? It's a play, if you haven't guessed. Anyways, I smile sweetly at the older woman, but I don't hug her.

"Aww, Coriolanus, Corry!" Grandmother says. "Don't I get a hug, too? Please, my sweetie-pie?"

_Do you think I really am someone to willingly hand out hugs for the sake of it?_ I think. _Grandmother, don't assume this of me._

But her insistence, as well as Mother's and Father's, make me hug her. But I am reluctant to, still.

"That's my Corry," Grandmother says affectionately. "So, Corry, how are you? What's been going on?" She demands to know my entire life, it seems. I give her a few brusque answers. But really, it's all fine, mostly, and she's not yet on my list until...

"Corry, I heard a boy from your class died last year."

I turn to face her. "Of course you heard. It was all over the news."

Grandmother looks appalled at my sudden change in attitude. "Still. Poor boy, he was only six..."

"_I_ think he deserved it," I snap. "He was a bully. Hubert was the worst kid in the school. I hope his death was painful."

"Now, now, Corry," Grandmother says, shaking her finger at me. "The poor boy died. Don't talk like that."

"I can talk however I want to," I say angrily. "And take my word, Hubert deserved to die. You didn't know him. I did."

"Corry!" Grandmother exclaims. "Don't say that! Your only six, too! Your mind should not be this corrupted! You should _cry_ for the poor boy, _mourn_ for him, not wish his death was painful!"

I'm nearly shaking with anger now. "I don't mourn for people who die making my life miserable!" I yell. "He bullied me, and ruined my days! He deserved to die! He did! And I am _not_ six, I'm seven!"

Grandmother gave Mother and Father one of those sorrowful looks, like, _Coriolanus is acting up. He needs help. Will he ever be a normal boy?_ And there was something else there, too. Something like, _Look at him. Little boy. "I am _not_ six, I'm seven!"_ And now I hate Grandmother for that look.

So, I retreat to my room, and take off my coat and mufflers. I begin gathering supplies for the poison.

So, Grandmother stayed for six days. On the fifth day, I put the poison in her wine. She went to bed that night. In the morning, we found her body. Plain dead.

The next month we had her funeral. I pretended to cry. No one questioned my tears.

Grandfather came to the funeral. Then, he moved in with us. Spoiler: he was my next kill. But that's a story for another time.

-Coriolanus


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I don't own the Hunger Games. However, I ****_do_**** own President Snow's journal.**

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February 27th, 2225

I don't have much time today, so I'm not going to go into great depths about Grandfather's death. Instead, I'm going to share the latest news on the man from District 6. He's the one who bad-mouthed the president, if you've forgotten already.

We've been waiting for any news, really. Personally, I've been hoping they would let me kill him myself. Of course they won't, though. Oh, no, why would they? Why would they let a little boy kill a criminal? Ten is too young to be a murderer!

I've told you about my first kills. Hubert and my grandmother. Remember? And remember also that they were not the only ones. I've been a murderer since the age of six!

I have not yet killed someone from the districts. I can't wait until I'm president. That's far in the future. I'm young, and people believe I'm innocent, harmless - Can you believe that? - and, well, not someone to suspect of murdering anyone. And here is the perfect opportunity to kill someone from a district.

They're going to kill him, anyway. Why can't I be the one to kill him?

Oh...I forgot to say what the news was. I got distracted. So, the news. Yes. The news.

They scheduled his trial. It's to be next year. Then they'll kill him. So, I figure I have until then to make my move.

Do not underestimate me. I will kill you. I will kill anyone who interferes with my plans.

I was going to say, do not underestimate a ten-year-old. But the thing is, I'm the only respectable ten-year-old you'll ever meet. The rest are babies, not hardened killers. I mean, look at Hubert. He's the very definition of "not-to-be-respected".

Time is scarce. I cannot continue writing. I must follow my mother. We're going "mall-shopping". Not my idea. She's on my list.

-Coriolanus


	9. Chapter 9

March 1st, 2225

Today is the three year anniversary of my grandfather's death. I'll tell you about that now, as I have nothing else to talk about.

So, my grandmother died during the Christmas holidays. My grandfather came to live with us. He was always crying, and talking about how his life had been ruined by whatever killed Grandmother. He was cruel to me, too.

I would come home from school and find him splayed out on my bed.

"Grandfather," I would say. "Grandfather, that's my bed. Get off."

Grandfather wouldn't hear me for the first few times. When he finally did, he would yell, "Corry? Corry! I'm here, and I'm staying here!"

I would kick him, saying "Grandfather, get _off_!"

Grandfather would sit up and swing at me furiously. "Go away! _I'm_ here! I'm here now! I'm not going! You leave!"

I would say, "It's _my_ bed! You get off now, or face the consequences!"

He would laugh and laugh, and say, "Funny! Corry, that's funny! I'm not moving! Get your grandmother here, and I'll move!"

At that point, I would go away and work on my poison. But it wouldn't be ready for a while, so I decided to do something else. When Grandfather demanded that I bring Grandmother to him...I did. Literally. I got a shovel and dug up the box they stored her ashes in. I brought him the box. He smashed it open. Of course, I had to clean it up, and he _still_ wouldn't get off of my bed.

When I finished my poison, I slipped some of it into his champagne glass. He died that night.

I was seven years old, and I had killed two of my grandparents, plus one of my classmates. You could say that they started my career. My career, which will never end.

-Coriolanus


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Happy tenth chapter, people. Note: I've created a forum for the Hunger Games. The link is on my profile. Please come check it out. I'm lonely.**

**I don't own the Hunger Games.**

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March 7th, 2225

I have made a decision. One day, people will want to know of my life as a...child. As I am now. I will show them things I wrote - meaning, including entries from this diary. I can't really do that if all entries are filled with descriptions of murders I have committed. So, I will describe them no more. I will say, however, that by this date, I have killed ten people. Many more are soon to follow. You will know - I will tell you - if another person...dies. Dies a terrible death of unknown causes. Surely you will draw the connection. But for now, everyone is safe. Happy. But not me.

March 7th. March. Yes, time is marching along, carrying a thousand-pound sack on it's back. It is barely dragging along, that is the truth. One year ago, it was yesterday. When will time progress normally? It is only crawling. I cannot wait for this summer - it's the first Quarter Quell - and I know I'm not the only one.

Maybe, when I'm president, I'll have four Games a year - one each season. And one per year will be a Quell. Oh, that'd be great, the Capitol would love me even more. But I don't think it could happen. There is a fine line between intimidating the districts - keeping them in line - and being tyrannical to the point where they feel the need to rebel.

Of course, it's not like we couldn't quench a rebellion. We've done it before. We _squished_ the rebels. Well, maybe we didn't _squish_ them - they did get farther than we expected, to be honest - but we easily put an end to the rebellion. But not to the rebelling.

Plans. Plans are everything presidency is about. And conquering. And the Games. I'm a master at plans, conquering, ruthlessness. That's why I shall become the nation's best president.

In time, I will become...more than a president. A king, perhaps. Yes, a king. I will _rule_ Panem like it has never been ruled before. I will put an end to the nation's system of rule, and turn it into a kingdom. Where _I_ shall rule. Where I shall be King of Panem. No longer will I be President. I will be King Coriolanus Snow.

Can you imagine?

-Soon to be, King Coriolanus Snow.


	11. Chapter 11

March 15th, 2225

The Ides of March. Here in the Capitol, this day is seen as one of...I'm not really sure what to call it. You see, on the Ides of March, people are more...careful. It's like the winter solstice. Bad things tend to happen. And some good things.

Here's an example: the rebellion, the Dark Days, really started on the Ides of March, 2193. That's when the first battle was. The rebels stormed the Capitol, and burned a few buildings. It was really a mediocre attempt. They were soon captured and put to death. But still, it started the real war.

Years of fighting and war passed. There was the Great Blackout of 2198. And on the 21st of December, 2199, the rebellion was officially put to an end with the Treaty of Treason.

The Ides of March. They say World War III began sometime around this date in 2067. And on the winter solstice of 2070, the Second Civil War started in America. And the country was ripped apart. And the world.

The Ides of March and the winter solstice have both played great roles in the development of Panem, the soon-to-be one party dictatorship.

They have both played great roles in the development of the country. That sounds like one of those essay prompts you get in school all the time. I can imagine my response. _The Ides of March and the winter solstice have both played great roles in the creation and development of Panem. For example, World War III began around the Ides of March in 2067. This war..._

I'm crafting this essay out in my head. I don't like essays, though. Why write essays when one day you'll be King of Panem? King of the World? The teachers say essays are important, useful. I don't see this. Why not write in a way people can understand?

I sound like a little kid. I have to admit this. A little kid, whining about school and essays. The world has bigger problems.

What is it they say? School helps you mature? That isn't right. School is what made - is making - me sound like a little boy. A little boy! Ten years old!

Oh, I am ten years of age. But do I act like one? Is your average ten-year-old a murderer? No.

So, as I have made it quite clear, today is the Ides of March. I'm locked up in my room, as is the custom on this day for children under thirteen. My fearful mother shoved me into my room, and locked the door behind me. And now here I am.

Why did I not stand up to my mother, and not allow myself to be locked in my own room? Two reasons.

One reason: She will be gone soon, and will not be bothering me any more. She is near the top of my list now. Just five names before her. You should know what this means. I'll get to her sometime next year, I hope.

Another reason: Were you under the impression that I'm tall, huge, and muscular? The most intimidating ten-year-old boy you ever saw? This is not the case. I am four foot ten inches tall, and I weigh ninety pounds. My muscles need serious development. Puberty hasn't come into affect yet. While my mother is not remarkably strong, either, I am not fit to physically oppose her. Not yet.

The Quarter Quell is inching closer. It is March.

-Coriolanus

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**A/N: I get lots of views, but _very_ few reviews. If you read this, could you pretty please drop a review and tell me what you thought? Thanks!**


	12. Chapter 12

March 24th, 2225

March 24th. My mother's birthday. One of my least favorite days of the year. Every year, on her birthday, Mother throws a day-long party. When I say day-long, I mean it starts at seven in the morning and people leave after midnight.

Mother woke me up at four this morning to begin preparing for the party. I showered and put on my nicest suit. I grabbed a bagel. Then, we caught a carriage to the dance hall that Mother reserved all day today. There, we sat and waited for the guests to arrive.

Half an hour later, the doors opened and Mother's friends started coming in. She dragged me up to each one. I had to introduce myself very formally - "Hello, my name is Coriolanus Snow. I'm pleased to meet you."

They would fawn over me. "Ooh, he's so _cute_!" and "Aww, you look handsome in that suit, Corry" and "You've grown a _foot_ since last year" were common.

Mother took me around, greeting her old friends and people she's never met before. After a few hours of this, I started getting sullen and cranky. Mother took me over to a corner and scolded me, saying that I couldn't behave like that, I had to be _nice _and _sweet_ and _charming_ for the guests. Otherwise, it would reflect badly on her, and it was already embarrassing her to have to remind me.

I don't like parties. I never have.

At around one o'clock, Mother grabbed some food and started chatting with someone I've never met before. I managed to escape, and feasted on fruit salad, pasta, and brownies. And soup. Lemon, cucumber, lentil, pea, every kind of soup you can imagine was there.

At three o'clock, Father found me at the donut station. I pulled me to the side, and said there was someone I might like to meet, who was very interested in seeing me. I was instantly suspicious. Who would want to see _me_ so badly?

But Father wouldn't tell me who it was, so I was forced to follow him.

Father took me to a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen. He left us then. I don't have our complete conversation in my memory, so I'm watching the security tapes. Mother doesn't know where I am. Father would be proud if he knew.

"Who are you?" It's best to begin bluntly.

He stared at me, then said, "You don't know who I am?"

I look at him, then recognize him, feeling foolish. "Oh. You."

"Yes." The boy stood up and bowed. "Marcus Keidon. My father is the president," he added smugly.

"I want to be the president when I'm older," I blurted out.

Marcus laughed. "Actually, _I'm_ going to be the next president."

The slight smile melted from my face. "No, you won't be."

"Look, kid, I've been in politics longer than you have. I know more about presidential duties. Don't fool yourself, kid. When I run, I'm going to win."

My fists clenched - the camera got a good view. "I'm running, and I'm going to be elected. I'd make a better president than _you_ would."

"Oh, you're going to try and fight me?" Marcus laughed. "I dare you to. Look at the Peacekeepers. They'll throw you in jail. And besides, you won't be able to beat me."

I almost smiled in spite of myself. "You don't know what I could do. I could hurt you. You don't want to find out how."

Marcus smirked. "I'm terrified."

"You should be. And what a disgrace for you, too." My voice was smitten with anger. "Beaten by a ten-year-old."

"You couldn't harm a fly, kid." Marcus gave me a punch in the arm - one that, from the camera's view, looked playful and harmless. But I remember it. It hurt.

I opened my mouth to reply, send him a scathing remark, but at that moment, Mother swooped in. She dragged me away. As you can imagine, I was shown off to more guests.

Right now, it's midnight. I'm terribly tired, and the guests have only now started to trickle out. I'll most likely be here for another few hours. Oh, joy.

-Coriolanus

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**A/N: I hope you liked it, but I won't know what you thought unless you review.**


	13. Chapter 13

April 3rd, 2225

My second meeting with Marcus. Today started off normal. I had breakfast, and I took the air train to school. School passed. I got into a fistfight with a boy, Chad. School ended. Most of the students went right to the air train, but I was told to stay.

As the final bell rang, the loudspeakers blared, "Coriolanus Snow and Chad Douglas, report to Headmaster's office immediately. Repeat, Coriolanus Snow and Chad Douglas, report to Headmaster's office immediately."

I sent a look of loathing at Chad, and then slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked to the headmaster's office.

Chad and I arrived at the Headmaster's office. Headmaster scrutinized us. We waited. Neither of us had any doubt as to why we were there.

Finally Headmaster spoke. "I understand that you two got into a fistfight today."

We nodded, and Chad burst out an apology, plus an explanation that I'd struck first.

"Is that true?" Headmaster asked me.

I told him that Chad was holding back information.

Chad explained, "He was bullying me, and I told him to stop, and but he said that you couldn't tell the future president to stop doing something, and then he hit me, sir."

"Future president?" Headmaster repeated.

"I will be the president, sir," I said. "In a few decades, I'm going to be the president."

"And then you hit him?"

"Sir. He was asking for it, sir." I glared at Chad.

Of course Chad argued against that, saying that he'd never _asked_ for anything.

Headmaster continued to question us about the events. I won't go into more detail because really, that isn't the real subject of today's entry.

Finally, Headmaster let us go. We left the school, an Chad went north. I went south to the air train station. On the way, I walked past the president's building. You have one guess as to who I met on the way past. That's right: Marcus. Marcus, in all of his self-important, obnoxious glory.

I was walking to the air train station briskly. It was just down the block. But someone stuck out their foot, and I fell to the ground. I turned, and saw Marcus standing over me.

"Oh, look who it is," he said. " Little Corry Snow. You don't look so high and mighty now."

I glared at him.

"I've come to tell you, little Corry, to _go_. Accept it, _I'm_ going to be the president."

"No, actually," I said, "I am."

Marcus laughed. "I could kill you now. I would kill you if you were a threat."

That was one of the worst insults he could have given me. Oh, I'm a threat, Marcus. You'll see. I grabbed his ankle and jerked it to the side, bringing him down. He landed at my right, and I got to my feet. I told him that _I'd_ be president, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was on the ground, quite at my mercy, but still he laughed. I kicked him as hard as I could, and sprinted to the air train station, already planning to give him the poison.

In fact, that's what I'm planning right now. I have most of the ingredients. It should be ready in a few weeks.

-Marcus's enemy

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**A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. It would mean a lot if you reviewed and told me what you thought, or gave me some ideas. Also, it would inspire me to keep writing this story.**


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